


more than words can say

by lord_is_it_mine



Series: The Glory Days [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Drabble, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Graphic Smut, Pet Names, Pre-Canon, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-War, Romance, Sappy, Short, Short & Sweet, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, introspective, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lord_is_it_mine/pseuds/lord_is_it_mine
Summary: Steve doesn't use words like baby or doll or sweetheart- that's Bucky's thing. Bucky's the one with the generous mouth and the terms of endearment that Steve sometimes pretends to hate but might actually starve to death without.((part of a series, but can totally be read as a standalone))





	more than words can say

**Author's Note:**

> It's been forever and a day since I've written anything for this pairing- I found some old scribbles on my headcanons for them and patched them together into something saccharine and almost completely plotless. Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> [I'm With You - Vance Joy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRR9ExA53Tc) also this is the song I had on loop while I was writing this- it has nothing to do with the theme of the fic but it's just so Gottdam good I had to share.

Steve doesn't use words like _baby_ or _doll_ or _sweetheart_ \- that's Bucky's thing. Bucky's the one with the generous mouth and the terms of endearment that Steve sometimes pretends to hate but might actually starve to death without. Steve just calls Bucky _Bucky_ , sometimes _Buck_ , but never anything remotely embellished, flowery, or any other kind of extravagant. Just one or two simple syllables that he can say a million different ways. Nothing else feels right to him, like calling Bucky by something other than his name just wouldn't do him justice, wouldn't capture all the things Steve sees every time he looks in Bucky's direction.

Sometimes, Steve wonders if it bothers Bucky, if Bucky is waiting for Steve to open his mouth and say _darlin'_ or _sugar_ or anything else that Bucky has called Steve in the past. He wonders if Bucky worried that maybe Steve doesn't love him enough, if Steve hasn't proven it to him in this one way that might matter more than any others. Steve wonders of there are words to prove how much he loves Bucky, or of those words could ever even actually exist.

When Bucky's half asleep, he calls Steve _doll_ , or _darlin'_ , things that roll easily off the tongue, sound drunken and slurred coming out of his mouth even if he's sober as a saint. These are light-hearted, quiet moments, as they're drifting off in the late night hours or when Bucky gets up in the earliest part of the morning. He'll be dressed but still stumbling, wiping sand out of his eyes and kissing Steve on the nose with a mumbled, _see you soon darlin'_ before he disappears into the dark pre-dawn.

In the throes, Steve is _baby_ , or _sweetheart_ , names often laid out with hot kisses on Steve's bare skin, punctuation for every snap of Bucky's hips, every push that drives them both closer to the edge. Steve feels so unworthy of the desperate praise in those words, the wrecked worship in Bucky's voice, his diligence in showing Steve just how much he wants him, how far he's willing to go to give Steve everything and then some. Steve opens up to him so easily, so readily, wanting nothing more than to give back to Bucky everything he gives to Steve.

When he's angry, Bucky calls Steve _sugar_ , or _dear-_ sharp words that are used as poison darts when sweetness just won't do. These are the rarest, but Steve treasures them still- Bucky's only defense against worry is his quick wit, sarcasm covering up the full breadth and severity of his fear, fear that the things Steve does will separate them, that Steve will get hurt or get sick or get stolen away somehow. It's as if he doesn't know that Steve would fight the whole world tooth and nail to remain in Bucky's good or bad graces, so long as he's here, in orbit of this man, the only person whose ever seen Steve the way Steve wishes he could see himself.

And in return, Steve has no words for Bucky, no nicknames or platitudes or anything to convey this thing he feels called love.

Steve thinks about this more than he'd like to admit, tries not to let it bother him and fails- but then he whispers Bucky's name, in the dark of their room, through the silence that comes after heavy breaths have lightened. He'll exhale it easily, exhaustedly, softly against Bucky's shoulder or is throat or his mouth- and Bucky will kiss him again, just like he did a second ago, except this time he won't be able to stop smiling. He'll keep smiling, try to talk around his grin and call Steve _Stevie_ , which is by far Steve's favourite of all his pet names. And then Steve will wonder why he ever worried in the first place.

* * *

If you were to ask Bucky how he feels about this, what he wants Steve to call him, he'd say it doesn't matter, that he knows beyond the shadow of any damn doubt that Steve loves him. He'd say that it's obvious, and how could anyone think otherwise- it's all in the way Steve says Bucky's name.

There's the way Steve says it when he's half-asleep, late at night or early in the morning, strands of straw-gold hair falling like a veil over those baby-blues, eyelids heavy, lashes dark against the paleness of his cheeks. Bucky's name becomes a sigh, a whisper, a prayer meant only for their home, this holy place. Bucky almost always responds with kisses, pressed in copious amounts to Steve's temple, his forehead, his nose.

When Steve says Bucky's name like this, he means _come back to bed_ , _keep me warm_ , _don't let me sleep alone_. It kills Bucky to leave in the early morning, to have to tear his body away from Steve's, pull his lips from Steve's face after Steve has already said all those things without saying so many words. There's the nights when he gets home late, finds Steve passed out on the couch and gathers him up, carries him to bed. Steve's eyes float open and he smiles a sweet half smile and murmurs _Bucky_ , and if Bucky could bottle and sell the peace he feels in those moments, he'd go down in history as the man who ended all wars.

There's the way Steve says it when they're in the throes, when Bucky's on him, inside him, beneath or on top of or any way Steve will have him. Here, Bucky's name is a cry, a moan, a plea, an affirmation. It gets stuck in Steve's throat, hitched with his breaths as they come shallow and quick, while Steve clings to Bucky's shoulders and spreads his legs wider, offering himself up so willingly, so perfectly, so beyond what Bucky deserves or understands. It makes Bucky feel weak and strong, needy and needed all at once, a whirlwind around him, Steve being his only anchor in the storm.

When Steve says Bucky's name like this, he means _please_ , _don't stop_ , _don't ever stop_ , _we were made for this_ \- it makes Bucky want to sing out in worship, makes him feel as close to God as he's ever felt. He does only what Steve asks and nothing less, pushing in closer and kissing him harder and treating him so God damn right that they both see stars. In those moments, they might as well be the only two souls left on earth, nothing but air between them, skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart, first to last and always.

There's the way Steve says it when he's angry, when he's a towering fright for all of his physical fragility. Bucky forgets sometimes, the lion's heart that beats in that birdcage of a chest, the soul so much bigger than that body. Bucky's name becomes a weapon, a flame, but never a curse- that's not something Steve would ever allow. He'll straighten his shoulders and push Bucky's name out of his chest, a boom like the big guns they fire in the trenches, places Bucky hopes he never has to see but will gladly go if it means Steve will be alive to yell at him after.

When Steve says Bucky's name like this, he means _don't do that again_ , _I've been worried sick_ , _do you know I'd die without you_ , _will you ever understand_ and Bucky won't. He won't ever know how he got so damn lucky, what he did in a past life to merit this man who fights but forgives him, who still wants to kiss him even though Bucky feels like all he's ever amounted to are his two calloused hands and his many mistakes. These are the moments that make him want to fall on his knees and beg, and sometimes he does, and sometimes Steve makes him- sometimes Steve sighs, pulls him up and touches his face and says his name again, over and over and over.

There's the way Steve says it in every other moment, all the ones in-between, when he wants Bucky's attention or he's making a point or he's just talking, taking up Bucky's time in the best way, using up all the air in the place until Bucky forgets to breathe. Bucky's name becomes a bookmark, an exclamation, an endearment that's all its own.

When Steve says Bucky's name like this, it means _I love you_ , _I love you_ , _I love you_.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great, comments are better! I'm @maudmont on tumblr.


End file.
